Deliver Us From Evil

In his new film Deliver Us from Evil, director Scott Derrickson wants to deliver us into evil's midst. And the tensions wrapped up in that purpose speak to the space that he has carved out—slashed might be better—for himself as an artist.

On one side of Derrickson is the materialist skeptic who guffaws at Satan or evil or genre films, dressing up a quaint idea like metaphysics in red silk, horns, and pitchfork. On his other side is the sort of religious folk for whom seeing—being entertained by—a horror film (no matter how artful) is like playing with an Ouija board. (Please hear me: I'm not talking about personal preference here—no one has to see or like this film. I'm talking about Facile Moral Proclamations on cultural artifacts.)

You'd think holiness was vapid the way resisting evil has been so often recast as fleeing into ignorance. Or maybe Jesus' brother got his verbs confused? For both groups, it seems, Jesus Christ—the one who, within evil's midst, offered the model prayer which includes the request for delivery from the evil one—is powerless.

A variety of voice and vision is always good and will remain so. But in the climate I've described above—in which the materialist skeptic and the fundamentalist have unwittingly conspired to seal existence air-tight—an artist's voice can lend some fresh air. Her vision can open up the cosmos as if mystery just might be neither agnostic nor threatening, but sensible.

Referring to Flannery O'Connor as his hero and Mystery and Manners as his creative bible, Derrickson recently told me that the mid twentieth ...

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